#i WILL get it out there though! even if it kills me!

[tiramissyoucake]

Can I request a scenario where Mohawk Mark and Girly reader first met each other, like he's the school's bad boy and no one mess with him since he's basically crazy.

Reader was maybe getting hit on and cornered into a wall or being followed then bump into mohawk mark and ask for his help, then he did. Which ends with the results of reader following him everywhere and over sharing to the the point they started dating.

Getting in trouble together, having quickies in the most unlikely places and sleeping naked together even though they didn't do anything before that, they're just enjoying each other's company

I love this idea so much. Mohawk Mark x girly reader you will always be loved.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: semi-public? Piv, fem reader (girly/Bimbo coded), corny ass flight confession thing, stripping after fucking, not proof read

.

When Mark's powers started coming in slowly but surely, he immediately thought of all the things he could do for his own satisfaction. A few days after getting them, at school, he punched a student so badly he was suspended for a week, he saw it as a vacation.

When he came back, the student he punched had a patch on where he got hit and everyone steered clear from Mark with uneasy eyes or judgemental glances followed by whispering, (except William, but William already barely talked to him now.) He didn't care, he was a God among men now, he learned to pull his punches, he had a feeling killing a student with a singular punch would be more trouble than it's worth.

He talked back to teachers, harshly bumped into whoever was in his way and glared back twice as hard to anyone who had the gall to look at him, he was untouchable so why should he care about what anyone else thinks? He doesn't mind suspension if it means scaring these losers into knowing who's stronger.

His appearance was enough as is, he was certain he was the only student with a mohawk. He fumbled with his locker, the weight of the books growing more irritating as he finally got it open, tossing whatever he didn't need inside, he heard speaking next to him- not the usual shit talk some gossip fiends would jabber about, he heard arguing.

"Can you back off?! I have a class to get to!"

"Just ditch with me! Who cares about class?"

"I do, dumbass! That's the whole point of school?!"

Following the noise, he immediately saw you, your annoyed expression didn't match the adorable appearance. Pretty glossy lips, styled hair, a bag with too many charms and keychains. You were fending off a guy who was getting a bit too close, even for him. Some no-name jock who he was sure had less personality than he had brains which was already low.

"Don't touch me!" You jerked your shoulder out of his hand with a glare. "What, now you're too good for me?"

Okay, this was embarrassing. Mark rolled his eyes before slamming his locker shut, approaching the bickering.

"She's not interested, dickhead." He started, taking your side. "Why don't you fuck off before I make you?"

The guy scoffed, sure he was more muscular but he didn't have half-viltrumite genetics. "What're you gonna do? Think you're some kinda hero?"

He didn't wait for anymore incentive, his fist flying immediately into his jaw- granted he had to hold back *a lot* of momentum he picked up in his swing, you gasped, the jerk staggered and held his jaw and stared in shock.

"Yeah that's what I thought, pussy." Mark grinned, his fist unaffected as he turned to you- you looked starstruck. "What do you for first period?"

It took you a moment to find your voice, stuttering. "Uh— history..?"

Huh. So did he. "Come on." He grabbed your arm and tugged you along, you followed with no protests. Mark was surprised at how obedient you were being given you were arguing with the dumbfounded idiot back there like hell, a small smirk came onto his face- maybe you were terrified of him like everyone else.

He stopped once he reached the correct room, letting go of your arm to open the door, he turned to you to say some cool goodbye he'd been practicing but paused.

You practically had hearts in your eyes as you stared at him, restraining a smile. "I didn't get to thank you for helping me back there!" Your friendly tone was a welcome change from the earlier hostility. "I'm (Name), you're Mark, right?"

"... how'd you know?"

"Duh? Everyone knows you! You're the guy that punched a guy." Yeah, that was about right. "I didn't know you were such a Knight in shining armor, though!"

He scoffed, almost offended at that. "Hell no, he was just pissing me off. You just happened to be there."

"Whatever you say~"

It started from there, in that history class, you sat next to him and kept trying to pass notes, to which he crumpled and tossed aside. You chalked it up to the tough guy persona he was trying to uphold because why else would he repeatedly glance at you?

You walked with him to his classes and monologued since he barely responded to make it a conversation. "-but I dunno, like sometimes I wanna go for the messy hair look but I can't leave my house without styling it! What do you think? I mean I like your mohawk, like rarely any guys can pull off a mohawk-"

Details he didn't care about were being retained in his head, and he prayed to God you'd leave him alone during lunch, maybe you had your own bimbo friends to talk to so he could get some peace and quiet.

All hopes of that were thrown out the window as he saw your tray land on the table he occupied, you sat down and smiled like he was the best thing in the world. "Hey, you!"

He dropped the plastic fork, sighing. "Fine. What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" You responded so cluelessly as you brought out a compact mirror from your bag.

"You've been following me around like a damn dog since this morning." You pissed him off, how could you worry about if you had enough glitter on your face at a moment like this. "What the fuck do you want?"

You scoffed, like he was stupid. "Uh, because I like you? And wanna get to know you? I know you have a pretty... yikes. Reputation. But I don't care, earlier this year they spread rumors that I slept with everyone on the football team." You leaned closer, grinning. "I wouldn't touch any of those losers with a ten foot pole."

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, he didn't trust you fully but you weren't exactly a nuisance. He shrugged. "Suit yourself, princess."

The gasp you let out scared him into dropping his fork again. "'Princess'?! We're on a nickname basis now?! Omg, okay! I'll call you Marky!"

"Don't." He gritted, that made him sound like a boy toy, he hoped his scowl brought your attention away from his reddening cheeks.

.

He hated admitting his parents were right, but he knew why keeping the powers thing a secret was important, he didn't want government losers trying to recruit him for corny hero work or get civilians talking, but he figured you wouldn't be a problem and shockingly, you weren't. The first thing you asked him was if he was like 'real life superman'.

Sneaking into your painfully adorable bedroom, he ignored all your questions of "how'd you get in?!" And "what's wrong?", holding your wrist.

"C'mon, I gotta show you something." You got up from your bed, magazines discarded as he tugged you closer to the window. "Hold on! Mark, my parents are gonna kill me!"

He rolled his eyes, one leg already out the window. "They won't know, trust me. C'mere."

He pulled you closely, chest to chest as he guided you out the window. One moment, your feet were on the windowsill, and the next he's soaring through the sky with you held tightly in his arms.

"If you drop me, I swear I'll kill you!!" You yelled as you clung to his shirt, Mark grinned and propped you up.

"Uh oh, my hands slipping!" His little jab made you yell and cling to him harder, he almost went crazy feeling you hide your face in his neck and tighten your hands' grip on him. "MARK!! THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

He couldn't help laughing, you were adorable enough as is, seeing you huddle up to him in his arms in the sky was a sight to see. At this point, he hovered and went at a decent pace over town, watching your expression. "What'd I tell you? Worth it or not?"

"Everything looks so pretty from up here.." You mumbled while glancing around, looking up at him. "Taking me out for a romantic flight, what's next? Are you gonna confess to me?" Your smile gave him the message that you'd hoped he would.

"Yeah? And if I was?" He leaned in, a grin on his lips, truth be told, after accepting your presence as a reoccurring thing in his life he found himself liking you more and more, following him around like a lovesick stalker. (it helped that he thought you were hot as hell too)

"I'd be real happy if you did?" You hummed, a blush dusting your cheeks. "You already know that I really like you, Marky."

That stupid nickname he came to accept, you were gonna be the death of him. "I like you too, princess. I really really like you." He repeated as he leaned closer, tightening his grip on you.

Pressing his lips to yours, you had a feeling the first kiss wouldn't be innocent, and you were right. A groan escaped him as if to silently say "finally", it was messy, biting your bottom lip, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss further and tilting his head when you parted your lips for him, if only he did this in your room so he could properly kiss you until your lips were bruised.

the scenery itself made him want to roll his eyes, your Mark holding you in the air in the nightsky- hovering over the town like he was some cheesy comic book hero with a damsel; as corny as it was, it was perfect.

.

You kept in contact after getting accepted into college while he didn't make the effort to even apply. How could you not? Every time you'd see that stupid mohawk in the distance, you'd get so excited you could burst. Mark still had his methods of sneaking in your dorm and whisking you away to God knows where.

A house party hosted by someone you both don't know, a club that was way too exclusive, a festival with everyone bringing their own spread blankets for some show, that one was your favourite; your deviant of a boyfriend found a secluded corner near the woods you could set up your blanket at and he wasted no time having you all to himself.

"Be quiet you— mmff..!" He hissed, his hands grabbing your hips to guide your movement, his dick buried inside you under the skirt he thanked god you decided to wear, perfect for tugging your panties off and having his way. "Fuck, just like that..."

Your whimpers and moans drove him insane but he didn't want any festival goers to find you two like this, you bouncing on his cock with his pants tugged halfway down, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "C-can't, Marky..! So good...!"

Mark let out a breathless laugh, bucking his hips up to you. "C'mere- kiss me." You obeyed, you always did. Lips parted as yours slotted against his own, his tongue invading your mouth almost instantly to swallow any of your adorable moans, he groaned as his hand came down to spank you briefly, a short but strong swing that stung in the best way and made you yelp into his mouth.

"You like that?" He grinned, mischievous and filthy. "Such a good slut for me- mmh, mine, right?" You nodded rapidly, that didn't seem good enough as he spanked you again to ellicit a response. "Ah! Yes! Yours..! Only yours..! Mark!!"

He noted your pace, humming. "As much as I love seeing you hop on my cock, bunny." He sat up, flipping you over and shoving you back down to the blanket he chuckled at your shocked noise. "I wanna fuck you proper."

His hips pistoned against yours, a devastating pace as he panted and grunted over your moans, his hands intertwining with yours. "Yes, fuck- take it, that's a good princess.." he huffed, your legs locking around his waist.

And that wasn't the end of it, as if fucking you like it was your last time meeting wasn't enough, back at your dorm he pinned you back to your bed and threw your clothes off for round two. It must've been Viltrumite stamina or something because he couldn't get enough of you, or maybe he was just that obsessed with you.

He stilled with a loud groan as a stuttered moan escaped you, his hips grinding against you as he pumped you full. "Yes, yes, yes. Fuuhuuuuck...!" Mark almost drooled out as your pussy hugged his cock closely.

"God— I love you, Markyyy..." You extended the nickname, a blissed out expression on your face as he came closer, licking his lips. "I love you too, you're so fuckin' cute..." a satisfied moan escaped him as he kissed you, your hand cupping his cheek gently as you reciprocated happily.

"Mmm... gotta go soon.." he begrudgingly reminded you, to which you whined and clung to him. "Nooooooo..!"

"Baby, come on. You know you'll get in trouble if anyone finds me here." He remembered your college's harsh guidelines on 'uninvited guests' in the dorm, that didn't stop you from insisting. "God, they won't know! Don't worry!"

He rolled his eyes affectionately at you as he settled next to you. "Okay, okay! Just gimme a sec to take this shit off.." he threw aside whatever remaining clothes he had on, a pile forming in the corner as he tossed aside the articles of clothing one by one. "You took, off. Now."

A giggle escaped you as he started to remove your clothes, almost too playfully as he coaxed you. "What's funny? C'mon! You gonna let me be the only naked freak here?"

Sweat had coated your bodies from the rush at the festival and running back, so peeling off whatever remaining clothes was a huge relief. Laying back in the small bed, the size wasn't an issue as you two shuffled closer, skin to skin.

"You comfy?" His arm wrapped around you while the other propped up his head up on your pillow, you let out a happy hum, kissing his cheek. "Uh-huh, you better not leave before I wake up in the morning!"

"Oh, baby I wouldn't dream of it." Mark grinned, holding you possessively.

He wasn't ideal, he wasn't someone who would encourage you to be your best, you knew these late outings and rendezvous that ended up with him naked in your bed wouldn't end well, but the two of you didn't care, you were perfect for each other and that's all that mattered.

[yukioos]

having to explain exaggerations to shoto

“you’re so handsome, i could die!” you exclaimed, looking at shoto as you sat at his family’s dinner table, though it was just the two of you.

his hand froze, no— his whole body froze. you could die? just because of how attractive he was?

shoto’s eyes widened and his mouth was slightly agape. he had to find a way to become less attractive, and quick! he didn’t know being handsome could kill someone. maybe he should be less around you or mess up his face so he wouldn’t be as appealing to you—

“god, i remember the first time i saw your smile. you flashed those pearly whites and i nearly dropped dead!” you chuckled, leaning your cheek against your fist, unaware of shoto’s panic.

could this really get any worse? first, you thought he was so handsome, and his looks could kill you! then, when he smiled you almost died? he gulped, ashamedly looking down at his food with sad eyes. he didn’t want to kill you, you were the love of his life.

you asked, “honey, what’s wrong?” and tapped your finger against the wood.

he thought for a moment, trying to rethink every decision he ever had with you. he didn’t want your relationship to end, and he didn’t want to be the reason you died.

“i didn’t know my looks could kill you.”

a laugh almost escaped your body, and your worried expression was quickly replaced with a smile. you covered your mouth and tried to hold back a chuckle, but you couldn’t help yourself. giggles came from your mouth, but you tried to keep it to a minimum so you could explain to shoto what you meant.

“baby, i’m just joking! looks can’t actually kill someone, unless there’s a quirk for that,” you mumbled the last part, tapping your chin in wonder, “i’m just saying that the first time i saw you, i fell in love with you because of how beautiful your smile was! your looks are amazing, sho, that’s why i’m saying i almost always pass out whenever i see you. it’s outstanding how handsome you are.”

his breathing evened out and he placed his chopsticks down, mumbling something under his breath. he let out a small ‘oh,’ then stated, “thank you.”

you nodded and continued talking to him, and he, of course, paid attention, but his cheeks were as red as a tomato. he tried to hold back a smile, shy from all of your compliments, although they were just an explanation.

shoto’s cheeks brought your thoughts away from your words and again, to him. you mumbled, “you’re gonna be the death of me, sho.”

his eyes widened like they did last time, “huh? wait— oh…” the two of you laughed it off and forgot about it the next morning.

hope u guys liked this one! i love shoto so muchhh :)

[stevesgother]

Can you do something with Steve x pregnant! reader? Maybe fluff to smut or insecure pregnant! reader to smut? Idk I’m babbling, I love your writing btw!!

18+

mmmm i love this! i feel like steve would literally be at your every beck and call while you're pregnant. you're carrying precious cargo, like, of course he'd want to make sure you're as comfy as possible.

it'd be well into the middle of the night, and you just can't fall asleep. every position causes one part of your body or another discomfort--

your constant tossing and turning rouses the sleeping man next to you, but rather than being annoyed for the early wakeup call, he's concerned.

"can't sleep, baby?" Steve asks groggily from beside you.

"just can't get comfortable," you sigh in response, "my back kills."

he shuffles closer-- the musky scent of sleep and something ineffably steve invading your senses. his calloused hands begin to rub firmly up and down the column of your back and over the hills of your shoulders and you noticeably relax into him.

"this helping?" he asks.

"mhm," you nod, gratefully, "thank you, stevie,"

"'course," he says and continues his ministrations on your exhausted muscles. you can feel the hardness of his morning wood pressing into your backside, but he makes no attempt to initiate anything intimate with you. he simply continues massaging you in an attempt to ease your discomfort.

heat pools low in your belly at the thought of him hard under his boxers-- only a one, thin layer of fabric separating you. your hormones have been all out of wack the past few weeks, having just began your second trimester.

without so much as speaking, you take his hand in yours-- halting his movements over your shoulders. slowly, so slowly, you guide his hand to where your arousal is collecting between your thighs. he stifles a groan upon feeling how wet you are for him.

he begins placing languid, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive spots just below your ear, "need something else, baby?" he asks, and you can feel the grin on his face growing against your skin.

you sigh at the sensation, "just you."

"yeah? need me to tire my girl out?" steve questions as he gently ruts his hips against your ass-- making it all the more apparent just how much he wants you.

his middle and index finger slip below the trim of your cotton panties, idly circling your clit in slow, relaxed motions. you release an airy whine at the feeling, circling your hips in time with his fingers to encourage him to keep going.

"that feel good, honey?" steve asks, voice husky and low in your ear, sending a chill down your spine and blood straight to your core.

"yes," you whisper in the stillness of the room, "god--don't stop,"

he picks up his pace just slightly, the hand under your neck curls around to play with your breasts-- swollen and attention-starved. his deft fingers gently pinch and roll your nipple through your sleep shirt, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"need more, steve," you pant into the empty space in front of you.

"you want my cock or my fingers, baby?" he sounds more desperate than he did minutes ago, though you can tell he's trying hard to maintain his composure. you think he must be leaking like a sieve behind the cotton of his boxer briefs.

"need you to fuck me like this," you whine, needy as ever. steve wastes no time ridding himself of his underwear, taking his length into his hand and pumping a few times before sliding the head of his cock through your slick.

"god-- you feel so good. so beautiful carrying our baby," he praises in your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. steve had never made you feel anything less than stunning, even when you felt bloated and crampy from pregnancy. to him-- you were as gorgeous as gorgeous could be.

he takes your leg and carefully guides it behind you and over his hip-- opening you up for him and effectively entangling himself with you.

"just relax, sweetheart," he instructs as he slowing sheaths himself on you cunt, "i've got you."

you can't help the small cry that escapes when he's fully seated inside you. steve keeps a firm grip on your thigh, seeing to it that you don't expend any unnecessary energy holding it up for him as he picks up his pace-- sliding with ease in and out of your entrance.

"feels so good, stevie," you whine, "just like that, oh--"

the springs of your mattress squeak quietly underneath your bodies and he continues thrusting into you. steve had always been well-endowed, but you've been infinitely more sensitive since you became pregnant-- something your obgyn had warned you about. your orgasms arrive quicker and more powerfully than they ever have before, and you find yourself lasting for half the time you used to.

"can feel you gettin' tighter, baby," steve says through gritted teeth from behind you-- trying to stave off his own release, "you gonna come for me? huh?"

"yes!" you shout, "don't stop--" turning your head to capture his lips in a kiss over your shoulder. one of your hands moves to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, securing his lips against yours.

"touch yourself." steve commands, sweaty foreheads pressed together and panting into one another's mouths.

you own shaky fingers travel south to where your achy clit begs for some stimulation. the second your fingers begin circling it, the white-hot pleasure of your impending orgasm floods you from head to toe.

"steve!" you cry out as your body tenses, then relaxes around him.

"good girl," steve pants into your skin, as his thrusts falter. he'd only been holding off for you to finish, "love you--fuckin' love you, baby,"

two more ruts of his hips and he's spilling into you with a strangled moan-- thighs shaking where they're tangled with yours. you're both silent as you come back down to earth; the only sounds in the room are your combines labored breathing.

you turn around fully to face a flushed and sweaty steve. even in the dark of your bedroom you can tell his cheeks and neck are a beat-red.

"you tired yet?" he asks, chuckling wearily.

"I don't know..." you lilt, "could go for round two in a few minutes."

he gives a playful roll of his eyes, "c'mere, you heathen."

you laugh and nuzzle into his chest-- the thatch of hair there damp and tickling your cheek.

he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, "goodnight, my love." you can tell by the sound of his voice that he's already dozing off again. you feel a pang of jealously that he's able to drift off so easily, but the feeling is quickly overcome with the pure adoration you have for him.

"goodnight, stevie."

you sleep soundly until noon the next day.

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel I need to share this with you. I saw this tiktok where a girls bf switched shoes with her on the way back from a night out. So he took off his shoes and gave them to her so she could be more comfortable, and then he put on her heels and walked the rest of the way back in them.

You think our sweet sev would do that???

- 🐥

oh COMPLETELY!!!

men and minors dni

this evening, when you decided to wear your most uncomfortable pair of heels, you were under the impression that tonight would be a lowkey dinner date, where the most walking you'd have to do was to and from the car.

that had been the plan. and dinner had been great. you and sevika spent the evening making lovey eyes across the table from one another, feeding one another bites of your dinner, and laughing.

but then you'd gotten back to your car, sevika had turned the key, and a horrible grinding noise rang out.

"fuck is that?!" you ask. sevika groans.

"it can't be good." she says.

so, your evening takes a turn. you spend forty five minutes sitting in the car waiting for a tow truck, then another forty five letting the mechanic poke around under the hood.

"yeah, i'm gonna have to take it to the shop." marcy the mechanic says. sevika groans and you rub her back.

"how long 'til it'll be ready?" your wife asks. marcy shrugs.

"two days, a week at most."

"a week?!" sevika cries.

you squeeze her shoulder. "relax, baby. marcy, thank you so much for coming out so late." you say.

"'course. you ladies need a ride home? it'll take a few minutes for me to get the car hitched to my truck, but i don't mind stopping on the way back to the shop."

you shake your head. you're tired and you just want to get home. you're only a few blocks away, and sevika probably needs the walk to calm down anyways. "that's alright, we'll hoof it. thanks marcy. text me when you get back to your shop safe, alright?" you ask.

marcy salutes you. "will do. you ladies have a good night. or... as good a night as you can, after this."

which is how you find yourself walking half a mile in your worst fucking shoes.

you manage just fine for the first few blocks. by the time you're in your neighborhood, your feet are aching and you're clinging to sevika's arm for support.

and now, three blocks from home, you just can't take it anymore.

"hold on, honey." you groan as you pull sevika to a bench. she frowns at you in concern.

"you alright?" she asks, pinching your cheek sweetly. you chuckle.

"my feet are killing me. just give me a few seconds to rest and i'll be good to go again."

sevika giggles and sits beside you, kissing your head. "didn't plan on an evening stroll, did ya?" she asks. you snort.

"no, i didn't."

"not our best date night." sevika laments. you laugh.

"not our worst either, though." you say.

"no? which one was our worst?"

"hmm... remember that time the restaurant caught on fire during our anniversary?"

sevika bursts into laughter. "you think that was our worst? our dinner was comped and we got free drinks for life!"

you snort. "well, what do you think our worst date's been?"

"the time we tried to go for a hike and a fucking hail storm started. i thought we were gonna get fuckin' iced off the mountain." she says.

you laugh and rest your head on your wife's shoulder. "god, that was horrible."

"or maybe the time we took jinx and isha to the aquarium and they both got food poisoning."

"they never shoulda eaten the fish sticks in that cafe. 's just wrong to eat fish in their own fuckin' house." you giggle.

"fuck, we were in that bathroom for hours."

"i'm just glad the cleaning staff was so fuckin' nice about all the vomit. i woulda banned us for life." you say.

sevika cackles and kisses your head. "how are your feet?"

"still sore, but i can manage."

"don't be stupid." sevika grunts. you frown, not understanding what she means until she bends over and starts untying her shoes.

"what're you doing?"

"i'll trade with ya."

"sevika!" you laugh. "we are not the same shoe size."

she giggles and shrugs. "so? we only got three blocks left."

"have you ever even walked in heels before?"

sevika shrugs again. "no. but how hard can it be?" she asks as she wiggles out of her shoes. you snort.

"sevika, you're gonna break your ankle."

"so, i'll hold your hand." she says. she shoots a mean glare at you, like she's daring you to protest further. you just roll your eyes and slip your heels off.

"i really don't wanna visit the hospital tonight, sev."

"i'll be fine." she giggles, handing you her fancy dress shoes and taking your heels in her hands.

you laugh as you watch her slip into them, standing with a slight wobble, before turning around and crouching to tie her shoes on your feet for you.

"my prince charming." you giggle. she winks up at you.

"i'm the one in the fancy slippers now, babe. think that makes me cinderella."

sevika helps you stand, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of your feet flat on the pavement. "thank you, love." you say, kissing her cheek. sevika winks at you, then weaves her arm in yours.

"anytime, dear."you start your walk back with slow, careful steps, holding onto sevika's arm and eyeing her feet in your stilettos. but, after a few moments, sevika lets out a scoff and straightens her spine. "this isn't so bad." she giggles. "look, i bet i could even--" she jumps a bit, and you cringe as she does.

"sevika! be careful!" you laugh.

your wife giggles, then starts jogging ahead of you. "oh, babe, these are easy. fuck are you complaining for? look!" she starts a little jig. you're shaking your head in disapproval, trying your best to swallow back your laughs. but when sevika trips and falls face first into your neighbor's front yard, you can't help but cackle.

kofi

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @butchchase @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

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@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm @leeidk87 @cinnamowor1d

[petrichormore]

So I’m watching Ros’ pov and I’m taking notes because tr!Ros’ mindset interests me and I just want to point out a few things.

(Bad and Ros are my main realm povs btw, I have watched almost every single one of both of their streams, but Bad moreso than Ros. The following is about tr!characters obviously)

(THIS IS KIND OF LONG)

So Ros tells Pangi and Aimsey what happened with Sneeg and Lukey. She clearly doesn’t want to, she tries to avoid saying it. When she finally admits it, she severely downplays it - she describes it as Sneeg “tapping” Lukey on the head. She tries to make it seem like it’s not a big deal. She says that Foolish resolved the situation and that everything is fine. Neither of these things is correct, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s trying to deceive. She’s downplaying it for Pangi’s sake, and Bad used an advanced wartime technique known as lying to convince Foolish he had prevented war when he’d actually made everything worse - Foolish passed that mistaken belief onto Ros.

Pangi, and then later Ros, and then later twitter, immediately draw a parallel between this incident and Pangi killing Pili which happened the day before. Pangi is the first one to make the connection and it’s because he’s trying to be understanding. He’s trying not to get angry, he’s reminding himself that he hurt Ros in much the same way.

But there’s a difference in how Ros handled it versus how Pangi handled it. Pangi did not try to downplay his actions nearly as much as Ros does - he admits to killing Pili, he says he isn’t trying to justify his actions (he brings up Pili’s behavior towards him as his motivation but he doesn’t try and make the argument that yellow faction shouldn’t be upset by it) and he says he is sincerely sorry for putting Ros in a difficult position. Ros also apologizes, and I think this is where Ros (and twitter) is having a misunderstanding:

Pangi is obviously upset that Ros and Sneeg tried to kill Pangi, but him bringing up Pili proves that he understands he did the same and is trying to take that into account because he cares about Ros. Ros thinks it’s unfair - why can he can attack Pili but she can’t attack Lukey? But listening to the conversation, Pangi seems to be more upset because he thinks Ros is purposefully misleading him about the situation. She says Sneeg only delivered a warning which purposefully didn’t do lethal damage, and then Lukey (more accurately) tells him that no, it definitely could’ve killed him, Sneeg just missed - and Bad later confirms this (Lukey calls Sneeg incompetent for missing by the way, which is funny). I don’t think Ros is purposefully misleading him, though, I think it’s a combination of her not remembering the event perfectly and her clinging to any explanation that will put her faction in the best light possible, even if that explanation is shaky at best.

She also complains to Aimsey, after Aimsey (correctly) points out that Ros killing people will, in fact, lead to them disliking her. She responds by saying she only does it “once in a while” and that “there are people more evil and more full of hatred than her”

This is interesting because it’s… not actually a response to Aimsey’s statement. The argument here is… what? That Ros personally believes she is not evil and therefore Lukey and Pangi don’t have the right to hold her actions against her? That if someone kills for a reason that is ‘righteous’ (I’m coming back to this later), and if they do it less frequently than someone who kills for unrighteous reasons, that it’s different? Are they not both murderers? Ros evidently believes she deserves leeway in this category, from Pangi and Lukey anyway.

And the way she brings up this concept of people “more evil than her” in response to being told to accept that murdering people will stir up resentment. She is right, there are people more “evil” by most people’s definition of the word. People like Bad, who Ros seemingly implies Lukey is wrong not to hate more than her. But… Ros doesn’t hate Bad either. She is actually pretty unique in that respect, with the way she has always treated Bad with respect and kindness even as his kill count rose. She hates Owen, of course, but Owen has not caused nearly the same amount of damage that Bad has - to yellow faction or to the realm in general. Owen’s largest crime so far, that Ros is aware of, is that he’s been absolutely horrid to her. That’s not good, obviously, but if this was really about morality, if this was really about who’s evil and who’s good - then Ros should by all accounts be ranking Bad lower than Owen, and definitely lower than Lukey. Except Bad is her friend. Her friend that she calls evil and thinks deserves to die. But still, somehow, her friend?

So I think that’s where this interesting dissonance is coming in. Ros thinks of herself as good, of her actions as righteous. She wants the freedom to be “a little silly” and “hateful and evil, for once” like other murderers on the server are, but she doesn’t want to align with the ideology that allows them to behave that way so freely. She thinks of herself as separate from that nebulous, undefined Evil, which she and her faction are strictly Not. Except when they want to be, then it’s okay and everyone should accept it. Because at least they’re not Evil all the time. In Ros’ opinion, anyway.

Ros’ moral compass is tearing her apart, spinning in all different directions, pulled by a million different motivations - some of which crumble to stress and overwhelm under scrutiny. She has named the compass ‘Righteous’ and wherever it points must be the right direction. If Bad kills people (even yellow faction!) he is still a friend, but if Owen is cruel to her specifically he is not a friend, and he is worse than Bad the serial killer. Slowly, her compass breaks away from this ‘objective’ morality that she tried so hard to follow in the past, but she cannot bear the mental strain of this realization and so she ignores it. But even if she ignores it, others do not, so what is Ros to do? The yellow faction might reinforce her beliefs, but Owen is the one who claimed befriending people from outside factions is wrong and harmful, and he is Evil. So she reaches out to others, but they look at her compass’ name and they ask “are you sure?” and they don’t realize it will break her to realize she isn’t.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Panic attack, drugs, alcohol, mentions of suggestive content

A/N: I tried to make it in one chapter, but this is gonna have to be multiple sorry lovies </3

JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST BY COMMENTING ON THIS POST.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P17: Safe?

“He told you what?” Mia exclaims, her eyes wide as she looks over at me. 

After Chris dragged me back to his room to ‘talk,’ there really wasn’t that much fucking talking. If anything, it was him trying to coddle me, mumbling to himself until he said words that made my tongue bleed from how hard I bit on the soft muscle. 

“I don’t want you hanging out with her alone.”

His words, his dumb fucking words. They made my blood boil, my body aching from an echoing pulse before I stormed out of the house, not bothering to even get my school bag from Matt’s room. 

Thankfully, Matt returned it later that night—thankfully, it wasn’t Chris who was knocking on my window for once.  

I shrug my shoulders, clutching the ice cream cup more as I lick the sweet treat off the spoon. “Yeah. I mean…that’s fucked, right?” I ask. 

Mia nods, poking her spoon into her ice cream cup as she grimaces. “Yes, very fucked. If Matt did that…” she says, trailing off with a disappointed shake of her head. 

I roll my eyes. “Matt would never do that, though.” I mutter. 

He never would. Mia’s lucky. Matt is a lot more reasonable.

At least he wasn’t toxic. 

“But, what are you telling me then? I’m confused.” she says. 

My lips curl into a smile, the idea floating and drifting into my mind falling from my mouth with a subtle dry laugh. 

“Well,” I start, swallowing some of the ice cream before clearing my throat, “-I’m gonna go to one of the lame-ass parties, make sure that Chris knows he can’t control me. I mean, I don’t even fucking understand why he doesn’t want me to hang out with you. No offense,” I look up and down, wincing as I notice the tiny bow sewn into the top of her shirt, “-if I’m not allowed to hang out with you, who the fuck would he even let me hang out with.” 

Mia nods with understanding. “Makes sense, but don’t those parties….I don’t know….like, suck?” she asks. 

“Yeah, but I’m petty.” I remark. She nods again, chewing on her lip. 

“What about Shawn? Doesn’t he make you really uncomfortable?” she interrogates. My head bobs up and down once more, my shoulders shrugging as I let out a bored sigh. “Well, what if I, what if I went with you?” she offers. 

My face scrunches. The thought of Mia at a party seems out of place. I can only imagine her in the comfy clothes she’s in. Lots of oversized zip ups with plain, soft shirts underneath—most having that cute bow sewn in at the top hem.

Hell, I couldn’t even imagine her getting in a sequence dress or anything. It just felt odd. 

“You don’t have to do that. Plus, Matt would kill me—-”

“We don’t have to tell him. This is just so you feel like you’re free again,” she blushes, looking down into her cup as she swirls her spoon, “-and I really wanna say I’ve been to a party, to be honest.” she mutters. 

I bite on my lower lip, my eyes squinting with mischief. “Perfect. But-” I lean in closer, giving her a warning look, “-you can’t wander off, alright? I don’t care if you’re pulling on my clothes like a toddler, do not leave my side. Got it?” I question. 

Mia nods with wide eyes. I sit back up, shrugging as I let out a deep breath. 

“Wanna get ready at my place? It’s a Saturday, I know there’s gotta be at least something happening tonight.” I announce, pulling out my phone and going to Shawn’s contact. 

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m so excited!” she squeals. 

A smile covers my face from her tone. I type a quick message to Shawn, my lips curling more as he types back within an instant, giving me an address of a party tonight. It’s the same house I was at the night I met Chris. At least I know where I’m going. 

At least I’ll be going with an actual friend. 

___

Music echoes through my room. I’m shifting through my closet, an irreplaceable smile on my face as I pick out an outfit. 

I feel like I’m in a movie, picking out my friend’s outfit before we go do something memorable. I’m already dressed. A tight tube top with a thin zipper on the side, a denim mini skirt, and sneakers. 

“Ohhhhh, I like this,” Mia points, pulling out a sundress of mine. 

“That’s not exactly party-clothes. Here,” A laugh pushes through my lips. I push the hanger back in, pulling her hand over to the shirt in my hand. “-what about this?” I ask. 

She hesitantly takes the hangers from my hand, holding up the outfit and analyzing the clothes with a nervous gulp. “Are you sure? This seems like—”

I cut her off, spinning her around by the shoulders, pushing her towards the bathroom. “Just try it on!” I urge. 

Mia walks off to the bathroom. I stalk over to my bay window, sitting and closing my eyes as I take a deep breath. 

This doesn’t feel good. 

Sure, being petty and feeling free did, but I didn’t wanna feel like I have to do this. Why couldn’t Chris always be sweet? Why did he have to be so…ugh. 

My body jolts as I hear a tap on the glass pane behind me. I gulp, turning around slowly, coming face to face with him.

Chris.

Fuck. 

Mia will be out any second. She definitely looks like she’s going to a party. My outfit could pass by as casual, hers couldn’t. 

I turn around quickly, pulling open the window as my heart echoes in my ears. “What are you doing here? I—”

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asks, gazing over my appearance. His tone isn’t cruel, it’s curious. 

My eyes drift to the bathroom door, my pulse hammering as I feel my face get warm. “I just wanted to get dressed up today, I—what are you doing here?” I repeat, flinching as I bit too hard on the inside of my cheek. 

Chris moves, trying to climb in through my window. His brows furrow as I push him back, blocking the entrance as I try to shield his view of the inside of my room as much as possible. 

“Can we talk?” he asks. 

My lips roll together. I shake my head firmly, huffing out a sigh as my eyes narrow down at him.

Chris swallows thickly. He takes a step back, looking down and avoiding my gaze. “I–um, okay. I’ll…I’ll give you some space, but,” his lips smack open and shut, “-can we talk…soon?” he asks.

“Yeah, whatever. Soon.” I puff, closing the window as he starts to back away slowly. 

My eyes squint together as I hear the bathroom door open, Mia’s head peeking out as she stares at me with wide eyes. 

“Does this…look okay?” she questions, hesitantly stepping out. 

Holy fuck. 

My jaw drops. The sight of her dressed in my clothes is different, unfamiliar, but not exactly bad. She looks good—really good. 

“Jesus, Mia.” I breathe, my eyes tracing over her hesitant hands as they slide over the small mini skirt. 

She’s wearing a bright blue top, one that has more coverage, but is tight. The skirt is black, simple but cohesive. She has on her typical converse, the slight frills of her socks peeking out making me smile. 

“I feel hot!” she exclaims, twirling around and strutting a pose. 

My lips flubber with a giggle, I hear my phone chime, looking down to see a text from Shawn. 

“Ready?” I ask, watching as she looks down, taking in a second glance of the outfit before looking up at me with a firm nod. 

___

It’s too fucking loud. Regret coils in my gut as I shove through a crowd of sweaty bodies, the bass nearly shaking the mansion as I cautiously watch the chandelier above me. 

This is not worth it. 

Sure, I felt free, but I didn’t exactly feel safe. 

Mia’s too passive. Her hands keep losing me as she refuses to shove through the bodies, trying to stop and say ‘excuse me.’ 

“C’mon,” I yell, my eyes trained on Mia as she squishes through a bundle of dancing girls who are barely standing up right. 

Once she pushes through, I grasp onto her wrist, tugging her behind me as I walk up the curved stairs, stopping at another living room. 

This house is huge. It’s more of a castle than a mansion. 

Shawn and his buddies come into sight. They’re all sprawled on the couch. Bottles of beer and an assortment of different drugs sit on the coffee table. I flinch at the distinct smell of weed. 

“Let’s just,” I pull Mia closer, making her sit on the empty single sofa chair before walking over and plopping next to Shawn. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose. I take a deep sigh, trying to ease the ache in my temples. 

“Hey,” Shawn slurs, his eyes hazily blinking at me as I direct my attention towards him. 

The chatter around us is quieter, but it’s still loud. I feel his knee bump into mine. A sigh falls from my lips, but I’m not exactly annoyed with the touch. At least it’s better than being stuck in a crowd of grinding bodies. 

“Hi.” I reply. 

My eyes narrow as I watch him reach forward, pushing his beer can into my hands. 

I shake my head from side to side, pushing the drink back towards him as he shrugs, sighing as he places it back onto the coffee table in the middle of all the couches and chairs. 

“Just thought I’d offer. You look a bit,” his lips twist towards the side, “-miserable.” 

A short laugh falls from my lips at the statement. I feel his hand land on my thigh, cringing as I lightly brush it off. 

“I..I’m sorry.” 

His words catch me off guard. I look over to see his eyes falling with sympathy. 

“I should just take the hint. I guess—-I just…I really liked you. But, I’ll try to lay off.” he says, removing his hand and placing it back onto his own knee. 

The surrounding noise seems to buzz faintly in my ears. My eyes focus on him as I analyze his face. His words weren’t that slurred, he’s not completely gone from reality.

He means it.

“It’s…it’s okay. I, um, I appreciate it, really.” I remark, my lips pulling into a tight line as I watch him hum, taking another swig of his drink. 

Huh. 

Who would’ve thought the highlight of my night would be Shawn of all things.

Looking over my shoulder, my heart drops as I see it—an empty chair, the chair Mia is supposed to be sitting in. 

Fuck.

“Where—” I look over to the guys on the couch opposite to me, “-where’s Mia?” I question, standing up and peeking my head around each corner. 

She’s gone.

“Your friend?” One of them asks. I nod furiously, my face falling with panic. “She was gonna find a bathroom or something, I don’t know.” he remarks carelessly.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, whipping around to see Shawn with a stern expression. 

“I’ll help you find her. She’s probably just in one of the rooms around here, let’s go look, okay? It’s fine.” he assures, the calm tone doing little to ease the panic shriveling through my body. 

___

I can’t find her. It’s been awhile—too long. Shawn and I have searched in every room, even walking in on a couple occupied rooms. Those images would be scarred in my brain forever. 

Tears are strolling down my face. I know my makeup is a mess, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Not when I can feel a tear of anxiety ripping me apart from the inside-out. 

Mia’s probably utterly lost. She doesn’t even know her way around the mansion, she couldn’t even shove through a crowd of bodies without my help. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shawn grabs the tops of my shoulders, pushing down as he forces me to sit on the edge of a bed. 

My breath hitches, hiccups erupting sporadically as streams of sadness slide down my cheeks. 

Everything is too loud. I can’t even hear Shawn next to me. 

He notices this, closing the door to the bedroom, the immediate mumble of some of the noise making my eyes focus onto him. 

“What am I gonna do?” I sob, my chest vibrating with waves of panic. 

The bed dips next to me, I feel Shawn wrap his arm around me, pulling me into himself as I let my tears soak into his shirt. 

My body goes limp. I let myself sink into his hold with pure defeat. 

“It’s gonna be okay. I told all the guys to keep an eye out and…” he holds me a little closer, his voice getting softer as a broken cry erupts from the back of my throat. 

I’m vibrating. Every pore of my body is on fire, my chest constricted and tight. I sit up from Shawn, my eyes bulging as I try to take a deep breath. My lips part, but no air seeps through. 

I can’t breathe. 

“What—hey, what’s—shit,,” he panics, pushing me to lay with my back flat on the bed. 

I stare up at the ceiling, my heart lurching to my throat as my lungs burn. 

I need air. I really, really need a fucking singular breath, but nothing is coming in—-or out. 

Mia’s lost. She’s probably scared out of her mind—hell, she might even be dead.

Oh my god. 

I can’t fucking breathe.

“-look at me, c’mon,” Shawn is slightly hovering over me, trying to pet my sweaty hair off of my face, peeling some of the strands out of my mouth. 

The mascara leaking into my eyes stings. It also tastes bad as I feel a hint of the makeup seep into my mouth. Shawn seems to take notice, wiping the dark liquid away from my lips as he takes deep breaths for himself. I try to follow the pattern, but still nothing. 

No air, no relief, no safety. 

No escape, either. 

A heart-wrenching sob leaves my mouth. Everything noise is drowned by the ringing in my ears as I squint my eyes shut. 

I feel hands touch me, movements barely registering as I feel myself get pulled up and into a hug. It’s not Shawn. These hands are colder, but they’re familiar.

Chris. 

“-no, I didn’t do anything! She’s cryin because—” 

Shawn is rushing to explain himself, holding his hands up with defense as Chris glares at him with a tight jaw. The relief of air sliding down my throat makes me dizzy. I feel myself crumble further into his hold, his hands grasping tighter as I greedily gasp for air. 

This probably looks awful. Shawn’s on top of me in an empty room and I’m crying, struggling to breathe. 

“He—he didn’t,” my vision is blurry, the lack of consistent breathing makes every task ten times harder, “-didn’t do anything. Couldn’t—Mia, I—,”

“She went home with Matt.” Chris says, his voice echoing softly into my ear as I feel him pet the back of my head. 

She’s safe.

God, how could I be so reckless? 

Chris holds onto me tight. I turn around, giving Shawn a sympathetic smile. He returns the gesture, running his hands over his face as Chris helps me walk out of the room. 

It’s all blurry. Smushed bodies and too many sensations. 

As soon as we walk outside, I notice the car that typically sits in the back of the garage untouched. 

Chris unlocks the vehicle. He opens the passenger door, helping me sit down. I barely have any time to react before he’s reaching over me, clasping my seatbelt into place for me. 

“Than—thank you,” I say. 

He stalls for a second, humming in response before standing back up, closing the door, and walking to the other side of the car. 

At least I finally feel safe. 

[sturnmeovr]

Posting for awareness and informative purposes only!! I am not a bully or hater by any means!!

(the first two pictures are my post. The third and fourth pictures are a post that was posted today)

Firstly, I want to say I did not come here to be hateful, only to spread awareness. Writing is my #1 hobby just like many others on this app. My account isn't that big, I’m just under 1,000 followers and I am thankful for every single one of them. I work hard on my writing. I'm 24 years old with a full-time job and I’m a mother to a 3-year-old dog😂🫶🏻 I stay up late most nights to write, edit, interact, etc. just like so many others on here. I love writing just as much as I love the triplets and it doesn't feel good when I log into my account to see other writers messaging me about someone stealing my work. Regardless if this is just an introduction post, this is my work copied and rephrased.

@bernardsbendystraws always preaches about how we should ask to use others work for inspiration. This increases the chances of your work getting reblogged, shared, and interacted with by other big accounts. When I say I'm not a hater, I mean that shit. I love talking to people on here. I brainstorm with anyone who private messages me. I help others with their writing. I don't care how many followers you have or how cute your account is, I interact with anything I like.

Had this person asked to use my work as inspo beforehand, I would've reblogged, liked, commented on every single post and followed immediately. I get so much warmth when someone shows an interest in my writing, so I understand 100%. But what we're not gonna do is copy and paste my work, flip a few words, and claim it as yours. Not only did you do that, you refused to take it down, claiming you asked another writer for permission and "only got a few words" from my post. You only said you'd rewrite it after I asked repeatedly asked you take it down. Then claimed you worded your message wrong. I'm not mad, I'm just saying - from my perspective, this is really shady.

I also want to state I am NOT the originator of babydaddy!Chris, there in fact was another account who had a babydaddy!Chris Au (still there but not active that I know of) before I posted mine.

I DO NOT care who has a babydaddy!Chris Au - I have zero claims on him!! I DO care when someone blatantly copies my work and marks it as their own.

Taking inspiration from someone else's Au and copying them are two different things. For example, @leoslaboratory has a babydaddy!Chris Au that came out after mine that is completely different. She uses her own ideas from her own head, plans it out herself, and fucking kills it on top of all that! Even though our Au's are different, she still credited me even though she technically didn't have to. Highly respected of her btw. Everyone check out her Au because it is honestly amazing!! <3

When you follow someone for months and all the sudden come out with 'your' work (like pictured above) that is identical to theirs, that is called copying. When you look up to someone's work, put your own twist on it, and come up with your own layout - that's called taking inspiration.

I just want everyone to be more cautious and considerate of others. This might be just Tumblr, but some people work really hard on here as crazy as that sounds.

And to the person who this is about, I blurred out your name because I genuinely hate it when people get bullied on here, that's the last thing I want to happen. I don't want to be responsible for that. I just hope you learned from this mistake and will grow from it! Writing about the triplets is supposed to be fun and doing things like this take the fun out of it. And trust, brainstorming up your own ideas is a lot more thrilling than going to someone else's page to take their work!

That's all I have to say - look forward to some posts from me soon 🫶🏻

Tagging others for awareness purposes only - @sweetshuga @chrisbratt333 @mattscoquette @muwapsturniolo @starrii-sturns @strnilolover @sofisturns @shadowthesim237

[artfulacrostic]

okay, do you want to know too much about st. yves, aka the guy in the litany that appears via matt's narration twice in ddba ep 6? well me and my childhood catholic education are here for you, but let me just say they hit the nail on the head with that one.

first of all: st. yves is the catholic patron saint of lawyers and the law in general (barristers, solicitors, jurists, etc). he was basically well known for fairly upholding the standards of the law, including refusing to accept bribes after he eventually became the middle ages version of a judge, and his big thing was all about helping and protecting the poor and the oppressed, especially widows and children. he was so into charity that he is usually shown with a bag of money to give away in one hand and the symbol of the law/judges in the other (some kind of scroll), or shown as mediating between a rich man and a poor man.

it's super clear to me and probably also you by this point why st. yves is a saint that matt would feel a particular connection with. it's a no brainer. the actual prayer he is praying is a snippet from the end of the litany of st. yves. a litany, in case you're wondering, is a kind of prayer usually formatted as a petition, and there are (i think, don't fail me now brain) five that are actually approved as public litanies that can be prayed at mass, while there are a bunch of other private litanies that you might do on your own or at home, with a bit less emphasis on the call and response format that is so big on the public ones like the litany of the saints.

a litany like the litany of st. yves is usually designed to call for that particular saint's intercession, aka to get them to put in a good word for you to god, since they are basically in the top tier of souls who are in good standing up in heaven. so while the saint themself can't do much, they can be like "yo i think my man matt could use some mojo would you mind giving that a look please?" and god is more likely to bestow some grace upon the person and their prayer intentions.

what's fascinating about the litany of st. yves is that in using it to pray for st. yves' intercession and help with the things that are being listed in the petition, matt isn't just asking for justice (although he is). the section he prays onscreen: "O God, from whom cometh all that is right and just, Thou didst establish Saint Yves as a judge in the midst of his brethren, making him the friend and advocate of the poor. Do Thou make us, by his intercession, steadfast in the pursuit of justice and confident in Thy merciful goodness. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

great, easy to see why matt relates to the desire to be a friend and advocate to the poor, why he wants to be made steadfast in the pursuit of justice, and why he wants to renew his confidence in god's mercy and goodness. great. nice and clear.

but.

if you're a big daredevil person, you know matt's faith and his willingness to go beat the shit out of evil people in the dead of night are deeply intertwined.

included in the actual petition portion of the litany of st. yves:

"Saint-Yves, devoted to penitence, pray for us."

gee, i wonder what matt feels guilty about that he feels the need to repent for.

"Saint Yves, friend of young people, pray for us. Saint Yves, companion of adolescents, pray for us."

gee, i wonder who the main focus of the episode is on matt saving. (angela.) gee, i wonder which demographic he caves for every time, and does what maybe he shouldn't, from the child he saved from the abusive father because he couldn't bear to listen anymore, to the boy who was kidnapped by the russians, who matt went after even though he knew it was a trap that they were using to try and kill him. (kids.)

"Saint Yves, helper of all who invoke thee, pray for us."

gee, i wonder who came to matt to ask for help, help that he was struggling to give via the system.

"Saint Yves, bright light among men of law, pray for us."

gee, i wonder why matt is struggling to find guidance on what he should do, when doing what he knows foggy would have wanted has been his guiding light—except it's been getting harder and harder to see that the system works at all.

"Saint Yves, terror of demons, pray for us."

gee. i wonder who might be feeling the urge to put some righteous terror back into the hearts of evil-doers.

and those are just the most immediately relevant lines. so maybe they just googled the patron saint of lawyers and jumped on that bandwagon. but maybe matt's looking for intercession for all those things and more. because of course we know that he prays more and more when he starts to let the devil out.

[tonycries]

Yakuza!Sukuna is terrifying—unholy, untouchable, an apex predator in designer suits and ancient ink.

People hear his name and flinch. His enemies fold before he touches them. His men follow orders without a word.

He doesn’t bow.

He doesn’t bend.

And he doesn’t love.

Until you.

And suddenly, he’s obsessed. Feral. Whipped in the most dangerous fucking way imaginable.

⸻

You walked into his world like a pretty little accident waiting to happen, all soft smiles and polite charm, too good for the seedy bar you’d been dragged to, dressed like temptation with just enough ink showing to get under his skin.

He watched you from his booth in the back—red eyes narrowed, rings clicking against his glass, the glint of his gold tooth catching the light as he grinned.

He should’ve looked away.

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Then your date touched you—too high, too fast—and said something that made your smile freeze.

Sukuna sat up, ready to intervene.

But you didn’t need help.

You punched him. Hard.

One hit, clean, brutal.

Blood everywhere.

Sukuna’s drink hit the table untouched.

His jaw was clenched.

And his cock? Already fucking hard.

⸻

He was on you in seconds—inked, towering, dangerous, all heat and muscle and that devil’s grin that usually made people piss themselves.

But not you.

You just blinked up at him, unimpressed, bored even.

“You hit like a pro, sweetheart. I’m impressed.”

You smirked. “And you’re nosy. What’s it to you?”

“Everything.”

You scoffed. “Bold. You always hit on women after they break noses?”

“Just the ones I’m gonna marry.”

⸻

Three days later, you’re in his bed, straddling him, his hands bruising your hips, both of you breathless and high on lust and pride.

“Mine,” he growled, biting your jaw, cock buried deep, eyes wild and hungry.

You didn’t flinch. You smiled, leaned in slow, licked into his mouth, and whispered,

“No, you’re mine.”

He froze.

Laughed.

Then snapped.

Flipped you fast, hands everywhere, teeth on your throat, voice wrecked and hoarse.

“Yours? Fuck yeah, angel. Yours. Now say it. Say you’re mine.”

You didn’t. Not at first.

You made him earn it.

Made him work for it, cocky and smug, teasing him with that sweet little mouth and that filthy attitude he was addicted to.

Until you broke—clawed at his shoulders, gasped it, “Yours, Kuna.”

Kuna.

He fucking snapped.

Body shaking, breath gone, head buried in your neck as he lost it inside you, moaning like you’d just ended his entire bloodstained existence.

“Say it again,” he demanded, desperate, ruined.

You smirked.

“Yo-”

“You know that’s not what I mean. Say it again brat, fuckin please”

“Kuna - ‘s all f’ you Kuna” You’d slur in the throes of pleasure. Barely able to think straight as he slams into that sweet spot over and over again.

That’s when he swore he’d kill anyone who dared breathe wrong in your direction.

You were his. Forever.

⸻

He never stopped touching you.

Hand on your ass in public. Arm around your waist. Mouth on your neck. Always.

He didn’t care who watched.

Didn’t care who stared.

“Wear whatever you want, baby. I can fight.”

And he did.

⸻

You, sweet and polite with everyone else, terrified rival bosses with your smile.

Once, some idiot flirted with him in front of you.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t curse.

Just smiled.

“Touch him again and I’ll break your wrist. He’s mine.”

Sukuna? Hard. Immediately.

Dragged you out and proved it against his car, voice low, wrecked, “Yours, angel. But don’t forget—you’re mine too.”

You never forgot.

You just loved making him say it again. And again. And again.

XO

🔖

Knee-deep in the passenger seat and you're writing about yakuza!Sukuna, is it casual now? 😼

OH?? MY?? GOD??? COME BACK N GIVE ME A BIG SMOOCH AND THEN KEEP WRITING ABOUT THIS NEOWWWW 😈 Why can I perfectly imagine him as a big bad yakuza though - like the stereotypical ones from anime ahahah.

[lissssabethxoxo]

My heart and soul are so tired, battered, and broken that I’ve pretty much given up.. I just can’t do ts anymore.

And yeah I wasn’t supposed to be born. My mom wanted to get an abortion because the pregnancy was killing her, but everyone talked her out of it. It doesn’t help that I look a lot like my dad. So I think, even though she’d never ever admit it, she’s always had some resentment towards me.. We never gotten along and I’ve never been good enough for her. You’d think that this would have caused me to move away from her never looking back. Nope. I have this weird co-dependence on her that I fear I’ll never break.. every time I’ve moved out I always end up having to come back to her one way or another. Even with my ex husband it was still like I couldn’t get away.. he acts just like her times 1,000. Having to perform for love and affection, nothing was ever good enough, I can’t do anything right, constantly screamed at, controlled and told what to do and how to do it, cold heartless love that always feel just barely out of reach but if I just keep proving myself worthy of their love I will finally receive it.. yeah.

THE ASTROLOGY OF THE FORBIDDEN: SIGNS & PLACEMENTS THAT SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN BORN

This is not a soft read. This is not your average astrology post.

This is the unraveling of destiny itself—an autopsy of the souls that should have never been incarnated, an exposure of the cosmic aberrations that fate allowed to slip through the cracks.

Some people are born under blessings. Some are born under curses.

And then there are those who were never meant to be born at all.

The universe tried to erase them before they even took their first breath. But they survived. And because of that, they are hated by life itself.

Every step they take is defiance. Every breath they inhale is an act of war against fate.

Tonight, we expose the charts of the unwanted, the doomed, the forsaken.

If you see yourself in these words, know that you were never meant to exist. But you do.

And that makes you unstoppable.

Sun in the 12th House: The Ghost Child

They were born with one foot in this world and one foot in the grave. Their identity is dissolved, erased, hidden—as if the universe itself is trying to forget them.

They feel like they are watching life through glass, unable to fully participate.

Their presence is a contradiction.

Their very existence is a mistake.

No one ever truly sees them. No one ever truly remembers them.

They are the ones who were meant to fade away.

But instead, they haunt.

Moon Square Pluto: The Mother’s Curse

A child born in pain. A child born in resentment.

This placement creates a soul that carries the weight of generations of trauma. They were not a gift, not a joy, but a burden. A constant reminder of something painful, something dark.

They are the child that was never supposed to happen.

Their existence is proof of someone’s suffering.

Every love they try to receive is tainted. Love is supposed to nurture. Theirs only burns.

They are a wound that never closes.

Mars in the 8th House: The Doomed Warrior

Born for war. Born for violence.

These people are living battlegrounds.

Fights chase them. Accidents haunt them. They either become dangerous, or they are constantly surrounded by danger.

They are the ones who were supposed to die young—and yet, here they are.

They feel like they are constantly fighting for survival, even when there is no real threat. Because deep down, they know they were never supposed to last this long.

Saturn Opposite the Moon: The Child That Was Never Loved

A baby born into coldness. Into a home where warmth was a luxury, where love was something they had to earn.

These people never knew what it meant to feel safe. To be comforted.

They were taught to survive before they were taught to live.

They raise themselves. They become their own parent, their own protector.

And yet, the emptiness never leaves them.

They are the forgotten.

Venus Square Pluto: The Cursed Lover

Every love story they enter ends in destruction.

They are the ones that people obsess over, but also fear. The ones that lovers cannot escape from, but wish they could.

Their love is too intense, too intoxicating, too lethal.

They were never meant for soft, easy love.

They are the ones people regret, the ones people warn about, the ones who leave a scar on the soul.

Chiron in the 1st House: The Wound That Walks

These people were born to be an example of suffering.

Life never lets them forget how much pain they carry.

Even when they try to heal, they are pulled back into the abyss.

People look at them and see a lesson, a warning, a tragedy.

They were never meant to be whole.

They were meant to be broken.

South Node in the 8th House: The One Who Was Meant to Stay Dead

They should have never come back.

This placement belongs to souls that already lived, already died. They were supposed to move on.

But something pulled them back.

Now, they live haunted. Haunted by past lives. Haunted by unfinished business. Haunted by shadows.

The world feels too heavy for them.

They know they don’t belong here.

Mercury Retrograde in the 12th House: The Forgotten One

Their voice was never meant to be heard.

They speak, but no one listens.

They write, but no one remembers.

It’s as if they do not exist in people’s minds.

They could disappear tomorrow, and the world would move on as if they were never here at all.

Pluto in the 4th House: The Home That Was a Grave

These people are born into homes that are already rotting.

They grow up in secrets, in decay, in dysfunction.

Their family was never meant to have them.

They are the ones who carry the weight of all that has been hidden, all that has been denied, all that has been buried.

And it destroys them from the inside.

Uranus Opposite the Sun: The One Who Will Always Be Alone

They are the anomaly.

They do not belong anywhere. They were never meant to fit in.

The world pushes them out.

They are too different, too rebellious, too untamed.

They will always be outsiders. And deep down, they know it.

THE VERDICT: YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO EXIST.

But you do.

The universe may have tried to erase you. Fate may have tried to break you.

But you survived. You won.

And now, you are more powerful than anyone could have ever imagined.

You were never supposed to be born.

So now the question is: What are you going to do with this stolen life?

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[dingodad]

love transmasc terezi analysis [thumbs up emoji] i read her as tmasc nonbinary but that might be me reading too much into the way she often forces herself into binary choices to her detriment OR has them forced on her (heads tails symbolism, the game over timeline vriska choice, dave vs karkat as 'romances to pursue', and more recently the way she acts as outsider and agent to both rose and dirk in beyond canon, the two forces of progenitor masculinity and femininity on deltritus). i think it's interesting how she views servitude to the empire as aspirational and i think that is definitely got some gender stuff going on there given preexisting reads of the caste system as misogyny. if you'd ever like to expand more on terezi as transmasculine, i'd love to hear it!

i don't think you are reading too deep into anything lol once upon a time it was pretty standard to remark upon the pointed androgyny of terezi's design so idk why i was getting yelled at for pointing it out just now. I never thought to connect this to her role as balance-keeper though.. if you think about it even the fact that her coin is called a "Cae[s]ar" but depicts a female figure seems emblematic of the illusion of dichotomy it offers

I've mentioned before that in general I'm less interested in figuring out what a character 'is' than I am in identifying how they relate to and participate in gender as a hierarchy of power, so I don't know if I would call the following a "transmasculine" read of Terezi per se. But it is a read on how I think Terezi plays masculine gender roles, or - to be crude - 'role plays' as male. So I definitely think it lends itself to interpretation of Terezi as a character with a masculine or androgynous identity

Expanding on what I first tentatively approached in this post and briefly followed up with my (apparently controversially) vague commentary on Terezi's clothing, my conception of Terezi's relationship to gender is largely informed by her relationship to the Knight role, which she implicitly tries to emulate when she role-plays as Redglare (the Knight of Mind) and which - as we understand it via Dave - is tied up in all these gendered expectations of heroism. Her proximity to gendered/hemospectral power absolutely plays a part too, though: the heroic Knighthood Terezi enthusiastically associates with being a legislacerator (see: the 'back in the day we could just kill criminals on the spot' shit) is really just systemic violence she is allowed to participate in by the blueness of her blood. But what she's apparently blind to is that - as you say - participating in that violence is subjecting herself to the violence of those higher on the patriarchal hierarchy. It's obvious to us, viewing Redglare's story as a cautionary tale about Terezi's fate, that the legislacerator is little more than the Grand Highblood's slave in the form of an attack dog; meanwhile Terezi obliviously treats Gamzee like a fascinating little oddity to play her games with, and is thus totally blindsided when he flips the script on her and reminds her of her place. Masculinity is a pool she's thrown into the deep end of, and Gamzee holds her head under the water with a grin.

Latula's bizarre struggle with the 'cool girl' persona is just Terezi and Redglare's complex of empowerment-disempowerment magnified to the ridiculous. The 'cool girl' finds acceptance among male peers by shedding off those cultural residues of femininity which are seen as undesirable, but for all her efforts can never truly become 'one of the boys' - for her gender transgression she is placed simultaneously outside of and beneath both classes. The gag about Latula not wanting to be "left hanging" even positions failure to be recognised as 'cool' ('like a boy') as a matter of life and death!

[arciam]

Underrated JayVik moments/lines (17/∞)

[Blink-and-you'll-miss-it.]

So, "fun" story: When I first watched Arcane, while I had already seen approximately 10.000 gifsets of JayVik's final 5 minutes crossing my dash, I knew hardly anything else about them, or how they would get to that point.

...So imagine my surprise when I witnessed Jayce just straight-up murdering the guy that I knew he would end up gazing at like this:

(Though, as I imagine, it was probably not that much less of a shock to people watching the show as it came out.)

In hindsight, of course I understand that it's very much by design that the viewer is kept in the dark about Jayce's motivations until the last possible moment (whether or not I agree with this decision and what it meant for the characters is another topic entirely... as in, you will never convince me that Jayce, if not for plot-imposed secrecy, wouldn't have tried to explain things to Viktor and would instead really just go "so anyway, I started blasting").

I assume we're supposed to think, at that point, that Jayce is either possessed by some force like the Arcane, went fully insane, or is indeed just out for Viktor's blood for some reason.

Which is why, upon second viewing, I found it even more incredible how Fortiche rrreally squeezed the absolute most out of the facial animations and, in fact, gave us a myriad of microexpressions which are supposed to still show us Jayce's true feelings once you know what you're looking for.

He may be looking at Viktor like a rabid raccoon most of the time, but then there's also:

The first time he hears (his) Viktor's voice again.

This part of his "split face" right before he shoots Viktor.

The dead last frame of this shot after shooting him.

Not to mention this sequence of faces as he stumbles out. just kill me it would hurt less

It's obvious enough once you know, yet subtle enough to remain obscured if you don't.

Also, another thing I want to draw attention to is how Jayce's "madness" stops the moment the deed is done (and only returns when Viktor does) - he is already fully lucid by the time he helps Caitlyn and Vi escape from the commune.

Which to me, looking back, indicates one thing specifically:

Jayce's mind freaking out on him to the brink of collapse until this moment wasn't just madness, or PTSD, or the touch of the Arcane.

He was waging outright war against himself to the point of dissociating to be able to do what he did to Viktor.

(Again - was it necessary for him to do it? I don't think the show really took the time to show us why it would be... but that wasn't the topic of this post.)

Part 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17

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[bread-tes]

YES

Y E S

YES THANK YOU

somewhere in my drafts I have a rambling about how while Skyrim is my favorite (mostly bc of nostalgia), Oblivion is just.. arguably better. I mean yeahhh the graphics can be kinda silly looking sometimes, and all the other little issues

but the story???

CONSIDERABLY AND ARGUABLY BETTER than Skyrim's

In my opinion, Oblivion does a better job of not only engaging me, but giving me a sense of immersion, in spite of how janky it can be. Skyrim can get a certain soulless feeling to it sometimes- with the endless copy-paste dungeon crawling quests and hand holding. Oblivion does also repeat itself sometimes, but at large the variety is much greater. It also doesn't shy away from expressing the differences, issues, and sometimes animosity between races that canonically dislike each other; Argonians making fun of Khajiit, pointing out racial advantages of races like Orcs or Bosmer, etc.

And then the main questline was always much more enjoyable to me. It feels much more involved, even though you're technically not the true main character of the main questline. Which is another thing I like. Players are used to being the main character of just about everything all the time, so it's definitely interesting to be important while still ultimately being replaceable.

And then building connections to characters and having a sense of relationship grow; Owyn (the arena blademaster), Martin, literally all of the DB members (before you have to kill them), even some of the Counts/Countesses of the cities.

Aside from all the story/immersion stuff, I like the leveling and class system significantly more as well (there's a mod for this in Skyrim). Especially with the messages you get afterwards. It's a nice touch.

Another one of my lukewarm TES takes is that Oblivion is actually a good game with touching storylines and all it takes for it to be engaging is to give it an honest try. Like yeah, it is undoubtedly, and often unintentionally, a very 'memey' game and yeah the bugs are frustrating, and the bad VA outtakes are funny, and the character models are questionable, but beyond that there's a lot of sincerity and depth which often goes unnoticed.

[eeriepromis]

Caleb Drama & Hypocrisy

[I originally posted this on the official subreddit but I'm not sure if it will get approved by the mods there. The servers are currently down too. - UPDATE: It did not. Flagged as hostile and uncivil instead which it is NOT.]

I want to have a civil, constructive conversation about something that’s been bothering me and many others in the community: There’s been a lot of hate directed at Caleb & Caleb girlies (even before his official release) and it’s only getting worse now that his limited Myth is coming out. This isn’t about “not liking a character.” Everyone is entitled to that. This is about the ongoing hostility, mod bias (not reddit, if you know you know), and the double standards we’re seeing everywhere.

People are saying Caleb “stole” Sylus' wings theme or question why he already has a kiss in his myth. That’s … not how any of this works. The writers and artists literally work on all the characters. There is no such thing as one character “stealing” a theme from another. That’s like arguing over who’s allowed to wear capes in a fantasy setting.

Saying his myth kiss happened “so early” compared to the other LI's ignores the fact that Caleb and MC have a long-established relationship, unlike others who were strangers. (except Zayne who also had a kiss) Of course their development may look different. I'm not even able to enjoy that kiss since it's full of pain and despair - right before both of them literally seem to explode.

Caleb fans had to wait over a year, watching everyone else get content, CGs, story chapters, and celebrations - and yet we’re the ones being called entitled?

The hypocrisy is wild. People say “you have to watch Sylus’ Myth to understand him” (his actions) - And I agree! Sylus has a complex story. He made MC shoot him in the chest, brought her to an EVER scientist because he couldn’t resonate with her, wanted him to experiment on her which could have mutilated her Evol, and still - we are told to give him grace because his Myth explains it. And it does! He’s layered and ultimately loves MC deeply.

But you know what?

So is Caleb.

Caleb isn’t some manipulative monster. [here and here's why] He’s a character who went through trauma, experimentation, isolation, (in his CURRENT life) and still chose to sacrifice himself to survive and protect MC [db4sylus explained it here] - and even fights against a command to kill MC in the new Myth. His Myth and main story arcs are full of nuance - but most people stopped watching at his Main Story and judge him from there. How is that fair? (remember that without context it would be so easy to accuse Rafayel as a seriel k*iller, Xavier as a cheater, Zayne as rude and Sylus as a cruel kidnapper)

The same thing happens with Xavier, who gets called “boring” or “plain” - when in reality, he's anything but boring or plain - and ready to make morally gray decisions and be ruthless. [Has the Light Vanished?] (also let's not forget his *intense* freakiness. It's always the quiet ones guys)

Or Zayne, who’s called robotic, vanilla and cold, even though his Myth is (also) one of the most heartbreaking love stories in the game and used to be happy and warm - but something broke and cursed him. [Snowfall Embrace] - [Fractal Library Analysis] (whispers brat tamer)

Or Rafayel, constantly reduced to “bratty” or “dramatic,” when outside of MC he’s deeply guarded, serious, and vengeful. He’s only vulnerable with her. [Rafayel suffered a lot.] (so poetic, so incredibly deep, thoughtful and introspective.)

Sylus also is misinterpreted all the time even by his own fans as some ultra toxic red flag (I've seen some disturbing fanfics) Because there are those people who actually are into psychos and that kinda fantasies. [kiti_kiwi explained him beautifully] He is actually such a hopeless romantic and softie for MC - so very open for all her whims. (cough brat enabler cough)

Having those fantasies is alright, don't want to shame you (I don't really care tbh) - but some truly think those are canon to the characters; and that's where the issues lie.

If you’re going to hold one LI to a standard of deeper context, that should apply to all of them.

Every single love interest in this game has a duality. That’s literally the point. They are written to be flawed, complicated, and deeply in love with MC. They would never truly harm her. Everything they do - no matter how misguided (and there are truly worse fictional characters in other media) - is to protect her. That’s what they live for. (true giga simps my babies are *nods*)

So why is this fandom so divided and hostile all the time?

I love all the LIs. I started playing this game for the lore and story, not the romance. (it is my first otome and I am demi so there's that) But what I’m seeing right now (people refusing to engage with canon content, inventing toxic headcanons, and spreading hate from surface-level takes) isn’t criticism. It’s misinformation and targeted bullying that are also misleading new players.

You don’t have to like Caleb. You don’t have to main him. But please stop punishing the people who do. We waited over a year for him. And we deserve to enjoy him in peace. If you don't like others spreading misconceptions about your LI - then don't do it yourself to other LI's.

I also think some people in this fandom seriously underestimate how much Caleb girlies are actually going through - and how much hate, judgment, and bias we face daily across multiple platforms. Not just mild disagreements - I'm talking about accusations that are deeply personal and honestly crossing the line.

We’ve been called in*est apologists.

We’ve been told we love “red flags” and psychos (it's okay if you DO, but not if you are accused of it because of misconceptions)

and there must be something seriously wrong with us.

We’ve been mocked, ridiculed, tone-policed, and banned in places where every other LI Main has been allowed to thrive. It’s not just tiring - it’s isolating. (To be clear: I'm not talking about this subreddit!)

And yet - despite all of that? The Caleb channel in the Discord became a safe haven. More like a lads-general that accepts and understands Caleb but is also so very open to gush over every LI with open arms and every girlie. I’ve met Caleb fans (even Mains of other LI) who love him for wildly different reasons. Some are drawn to his protectiveness. A lot of us are the eldest daughters, so they like to be the ones to be cared for for once (to be free of all the responsibilities and expectations of others) and Caleb is so very good at caring. Some adore his teasing and flirty softness. (his VA makes it all sound SO authentic!) Some love his character design and uniform. Some see themselves. (the Millennial vibe, the responsibility, the yearning for freedom) And his cooking is always yearned for!

I'm also one of those who were worried about his portrayal in the new Main Story Arc at his release. That part was suffocating. It was hard to watch and play through. I'm not into yanderes or psychos at all. I didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t what I wanted for him at all. (I'm also not into his Colonel uniform, sorry my fellow pipsqueaks xD but I know he hates it too.) At least Sylus had the twins as comedic relief *cries internally* And guess what? That’s okay.

What mattered was that I kept reading. I followed his entire arc - his Myth, his Anecdotes, his Bond Story, his Moments. And what I found was a character who made sense. (just like all the others) Who was still trying, still loving, still fighting against the worst parts of his world and himself - for her.

But that part? The part where we explain why we do see the nuance? The part where we talk about how we don’t excuse the red flags, but understand where they come from? It gets ignored. Every time.

This isn’t about defending toxic characters. It’s about wanting the same space to enjoy complexity as every other LI community has already been granted. And being tired of having to justify our existence in a fandom that’s supposed to be about love, choice, and story.

So before you assume Caleb fans are “into red flags,” (not denying there are a few, just like some Sylus girlies too tbh) maybe talk to a few of us if you don't understand. Ask why we like him. Listen when tell our reasonings instead of just dismissing them because they don't fit your context-lacking headcanon narrative. Respect that his arc, like every other LI’s, is layered, painful, and intentional.

We aren’t asking to be everyone’s favorite. We’re asking to exist without being attacked for it.

Please, let’s stop the "he-said-she-said" hate cycle. Let people enjoy what they love. That’s what fandom is supposed to be. Love, create and evolve together. (and angst together. totally angst together.)

I don’t care if you don’t like Caleb. That’s valid. Not every LI is for everyone. But the constant policing, mockery, and moral grandstanding aimed at fans who do like him is just exhausting. It’s okay to enjoy a character with flaws. It’s okay to enjoy different kinds of romance stories. That’s literally the point of this genre.

This is a game. A beautiful, story-rich, emotional game. Let people enjoy it. Let us enjoy our LI. And please stop treating us like we’re the enemy for doing so.

Like- I'm genuily confused??? I was there during the US5 & Tokio Hotel beefs, I was there during the Team Edward and Team Jacob wars and also during the Big Time Rush and One Direction phase. None of those fandoms seemed as divided and infighting like this one. Where are these people taking all the energy to hate and the jealousy from and why are they attacking fictional pixels and fans who can't change anything about their issues instead of working together instead?

Sincerely, A tired but still standing Caleb girly (and lore nerd) (thanks for reading through my TED talk if you've made it this far)

P.S.: A random thought that I've had while writing - I'm expecting all counterpart LI to have a darker lore and more "obvious" red flags than the OG3. Maybe the 6th will even be a Phoenix. Wings could be a counterpart thing. If you've haven't noticed yet - the overview in the Café where you select your LI: The OG3 are in white clothing, while their counterparts are wearing black so far.)

Lots of love to my fellow pipsqueaks.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Had another ISaT AU dream

This one was much less atmospheric and cool than my Tower of Dormont AU one but for anyone out there looking for fic ideas: Modern day 'urban fantasy AU' with the classic 'all the magic types are hidden' masquerade shenanigans going on but well the setup is: Isabeau, neighbourhood friendly vampire, trying to be as ethical as he can with his blood consumption, wanders areas like the outside of night clubs and the park late at night totally just 'out for a late night jog' with emergency fruit snacks and juice boxes on hand-

meets Siffrin, an exhausted, lonely, 'working far too many hours to barely break even on their rent' human on the way back from his 6 to 3am shift attempting to stargaze in the middle of the park, and the two get SO into talking Isa kinda forgets to even bite the little fella (oops!) before offering them a juice box. Cue Sif and Isa both deciding for '100% totally logical reasons' to keep frequenting the park, Isa having his first real 'help Mira, Ma'dam I'm biting someone I know on the regular, and I'm not sure if I LIKE-like them or if this just, idk, stupid vampire instincts going on' crisis combined with some secondary 'also I'm really worried about their living situation and maybe I could invite them to stay with me, introduce you all to them cuz they don't really seem to have any friends, etc' stuff, Sif slowly gets to meet everyone in 'the supernatural support group/family' (aka Mira, Odile, Bonnie and Nille), Isa and Sif's relationship progressing firmly into romantic territory with Isa stressing about how to explain the whole 'vampire' thing and how to apologise about all the hypnotising and get across that the only thing he's ever used it for was Sif's blood only (which btw is very tasty and sweet and also lets him daywalk sometimes which usually only happens when it's freely given, so Sif should probably not let any other vamp know about that) and- And-!

Annnnd it turns out that actually, Siffrin has known Isa was a vampire this entire time and that Isa's hypnosis never worked on them: Sif just accepted that getting bitten by the wonderful funny buff Isa-vamp was a small price to pay for free meals and good conversation on the regular, Isa's occasion 'red eye' thing was just a attractive tell for when he was getting hungry and as a 'Null'(1) -aka one of the Universe's designated monster killers who's constantly having to butcher and then hide the bodies of all the monsters that keep trying to pull off kills or worse right in front of them (when Sif's not being targeted himself. Late night solo shifts at the 7/11 / gas station are the worst)- this frankly has been the nicest, least stressful string of monster encounters they've had in a long time and they're really enjoying the reprieve.

TLDR: Isabeau is a vampire in the modern day who's hyper freaked out about confessing his (and his friends') monster status to his totally normal overworked human 'maybe partner' Sif, who actually knew Isa was a vamp the whole time, is actually THE primary monster hunter of the area, and is simply really happy that Isa and the other monsters he keeps introducing them to are actually good company as opposed to usual murderous eldritch horrors they usually run into. (1) My dream gave me a surprising amount of worldbuilding here (thank you dream Odile for trying to sus Sif out) but Nulls are sort of something akin to a Slayer in Buffy - Chosen ones selected by The Universe to slay evil. Nulls specifically 'ping' as 100% normal human to pretty much all supernatural senses (hence why they're called Nulls) but they're just flat out immune to mind manipulation and perception filters, they heal back from horrific levels of injury relatively quickly (though it's not quite at 'abusable in combat' levels), they instinctively know exactly how to hurt and kill any foe they deem in need of killing, and they tend to have major 'kill them all' issues towards most supernatural types since they often become Nulls as a result of their family's getting murdered or nearly being erased from existence by some sort of cosmic horror etc... Resulting in them being officially 'the ones monsters tell horror stories of'. Incidentally, one of the 'tells' of a Null is that they tend to be especially 'alluring' in various ways to most kinds of 'human hunting' monsters: Their blood, flesh, emotions etc all 'smell' and 'taste' especially delicious (and may grant 'special' properties such as giving Vampires sun immunity), they tend to work odd hours or 'do at one's own pace' jobs (aka being murder monster catnip tends to result in a lot of unscheduled and inexplainable emergences), and they tend to be perpetually exhausted (due to having to be near constantly hyper alert in case of Yet Another Monster after them, and all the monster slaying itself).

As for other stuff:

I vaguely picture Mira and the other Dormont Housemaidens as Angels for the Change God (think like bees to a hive - collecting the 'byproducts' of fresh hope and change in humans to make into food), Odile as some kind of primordial Eldritch Thing who's always lent towards benevolent observation of humanity (also one of the few supernaturals to ever have met more than one Null before and lived to tell about it. Probably the only supernatual being in setting who's likely to treat them as highly dangerous people first, murderous killers second), and Bonnie and Nille as Were Beasts of some kind (plz picture Sif being charmed over by Bonnie in an instant, being enthralled by their big gush/bragging about the 'once a month family camping trips' where they and Nille go to the countryside to hunt wild boar or deer which then Bonnie cooks up real nice for everyone except Za because he's a weenie who can't handle any good seasonings like garlic' and immediately offering to save Frin the best cut next time since it probably wouldn't be safe to bring him on the trip with them).

Also Isa totally works as a 'night only' beat cop or park ranger or something (gets away with just working the later hours since 'sun allergy' is accepted as a reasonably common disability in a human society full of secret monster folks trying to blend in) though he IS currently undertaking an online apprenticeship with a well known fashion designer who's been around forever.

Sif's Null awakening probably involved a 'history eating' eldritch horror (so um. Yep, sorry Sif, you still have memory loss, no ID and probably no education past middle school level) and The King's also a Null but of the 'genuinely murderous and terrible' kind - specifically in my dream, Sif's awakening involved killing The King (and mercy killing a whole bunch of innocent monsters The King was keeping as 'living trophies' or something because Sif had no idea how to free them from their various fate-worse-than-deaths otherwise) but like. I'm not writing this so do as you wish~ I do very much like the visual of Sif's 'Null' instincts including other Null who've 'gone wrong' though and hope that gets included. Makes for a nice 'and then Isa and the other friendly monsters had to process that cute, sweet Siffrin who's so gentle with Bonbon, stepped in to help Mira and Nille with babysitting near instantly, gets teased by Odile and throws everything into making Isa laugh and swoon, is in fact the rumored serial killer of serial killers who once dealt with a guy that had a rep akin to 'He Who Must Not Be Named' among the monster community, when he was around 14 years old and armed with a pencil sharpner.

Oh and before I forget again: Sif has absolutely zero knowledge of supernaturals other than 1) they exist, 2) most other people don't know they exist, and 3) Siffrin is supernatural catnip who's really really good at murdering things before they can murder him or other people. Also they do not get paid enough for this, monsters tend to carry less money on them than one might think, and the police start asking very awkward questions if you become known as 'that one guy who keeps finding and selling stuff suspected to belong to missing persons at the nearby pawn shop'.

Only reason Sif didn't start their 'three warnings before murder' thing with Isa is that they were just that damn tired when they met him that they didn't pick up on his vampy vibes until his teeth were in their neck, they didn't have the energy to 'bother' fighting him off (they were firmly at the 'this might as well happen, why not die at the teeth of someone who was at least nice about it' point) and well. Cue dull, confused happy surprise (much akin to someone just coming off a vamp's hypnosis) when Isa stopped them from tipping over, apologised for 'keeping them out so late they were fainting from low blood sugar' and gave them half a dozen snacks before offering to walk them home.

So yeah. There's another AU out for adoption if anyone wants in (do feel free to ask for help if you want more world building or whatever) and off I go back to typing away at my endless amount of ISaT Selkie AU notes instead~ XD

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were. 

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn’t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands. 

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out. 

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not. 

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word. 

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her. 

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-“ Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that. 

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her. 

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense. 

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her. 

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala. 

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself. 

And he never knew when to stop. 

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven. 

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body. 

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go. 

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him. 

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself. 

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane. 

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her. 

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with. 

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried. 

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good. 

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to. 

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight. 

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped. 

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm. 

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour. 

The extra thirty was mostly for safety. 

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left—not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care. 

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all. 

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time. 

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” 

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care. 

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before. 

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it. 

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.” 

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine. 

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that. 

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked. 

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick. 

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her. 

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him. 

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he- 

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew. 

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs. 

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books. 

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first. 

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to- 

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom. 

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her. 

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone. 

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him. 

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to. 

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed. 

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way. 

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade. 

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic. 

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again. 

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well. 

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious. 

But you have to do this. 

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.” 

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here. 

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body. 

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together. 

Knowing still really doesn’t matter. 

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. “It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost. 

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse. 

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone. 

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision. 

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last. 

None of this place has. 

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom. 

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but-  No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.” 

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door. 

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still. 

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static. 

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were. 

Like Lilith. 

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror. 

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel. 

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book. 

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time. 

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole. 

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up. 

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore. 

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting. 

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching. 

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone. 

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross. 

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party. 

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here. 

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.” 

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky. 

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you- 

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t- 

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings. 

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea. 

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning. 

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice. 

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse. 

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean. 

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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